Beneath the Tower of the Sun
by The Otherworlder
Summary: A visitor to Minas Tirith stumbles upon a heinous conspiracy, and Thorongil and Denethor investigate. But who is this cloaked and masked visitor, and is she about to ensnare Thorongil with her arts? Action, mystery, and lots and lots of romance. Inspired by Fantasy Flight Game's LOTR card game.


Disclaimer: Tolkien owns almost everything, and the rest belongs to _Fantasy Flight Games. _No profit is being made from this story of course and I will put everything back once I finish playing.

AN: This story is based on FFG's most excellent LOTR Living Card Game, specifically based on the scenario S_teward's Fear_ from the _Against the Shadows _cycle. I first attempted to beat the quest with a mono-green Aragorn-Denethor-Mirlonde deck, with lots of elf power, scrying, palantir, and Aragorn swooping in to save the day. Though I have not yet beat this (bloody ****** difficult) scenario, I did get inspirations for a story! Hope you enjoy!

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_**Prologue: The Fourth Star**_

On the fourth level of Minas Tirith there was a small tavern called the _Fourth Star_. It sat along the outermost street of the fourth circle, and across the white, stone-cobbled street was the defender's wall. Leaning against the wall, one had a spectacular view of the snow-draped slopes of Mindolluin. The tavern looked simple and perfectly ordinary from the outside: an aged door, some latticed windows on the second floor, and a well-oiled wooden sign hanging above the street, carved with the image of a tankard of beer and four six-pointed stars. A few black banners flew from the second floor window. They looked a little bleak, but acceptable for a tavern owned by common merchants without a noble house and a bright crest. Even its reputation was perfectly ordinary: a house with decent, sometimes exotic, brew and delightful but indecent dancer girls from Harad and Rhun. It was not the best sort of reputation, but an ordinary one, and the folk who preferred the _Fourth Star_ were also the ordinary sort: craftsmen, peddlers, and low-born merchants of Gondorian and foreign origins alike.

On a perfectly ordinary evening, when the moon was full and fair above the Mindolluin, a shadowy cloaked figure slipped into _The Fourth Star_. The dark cloak swept around her like clouds about the moon, hiding everything from view, save the narrowness of her shoulders—the only indication it was most likely a _her_. She produced two copper coins for the owner of the tavern and asked for a tankard of beer with gestures, then shrank into a corner nursing her drink.

The tavern was three-quarter full as usual. Two young girls evocatively clad in layers of colorful gauze just finished dancing, they walked around the tavern asking for tips to applauses and jeers alike. When they passed by the new comer hidden in her dark cloak they saw a slender, white hand reach out from the shadows and offer them a copper coin. The dancer girls were quite startled; why, they barely noticed anyone sitting there, much less expecting a coin.

The night grew deeper and the dancers retired, still the tavern remained noisome. Big burly men laughed and roared over many a tankards of cheap brew, crashing mugs together and thumping tables. Business deals were being made, and arguments were being hashed out. One group of men dressed in the rough merchant garb of southern traders were having a hushed conversation in the corner. Their voices were low and their eyes were constantly scanning the tavern, as if en guard against any potential eavesdropper. Their business must be important and lucrative indeed.

_"If there really is a bastard son, the scene is completely changed, so must our plan then…"_

_"The bastard has to go as well, of course. Or else we are just doing him a favor, removing the legitimate and giving him the chance to rise…"_

_"A bastard should be easier to be rid of, no? Not quite as well guarded as the legitimate…"_

_"So speaks one who clearly has not seen our query in action. All of us jumping on him unaware may have a chance. A small one."_

_"Fear not, we will have reinforcement. He should arrive tonight. I say if our reinforcement deals with the bastard, we should continue apace with the original plan…"_

_"How goes the map? Master Hand will have to see and approve our plan before we execute…"_

_"And supplies…"_

_"Almost there…"_

Their conversation slowly died down, and they continued to survey the tavern with thinly veiled wariness. Their caution was perhaps excessive, for even the most learned men could barely understand their secretive tongue, never mind simple craftsmen and traders of the fourth circle.

The cloaked woman stood up quietly and made for the door. She was silent like a ghost and barely anyone seemed to notice her movement, yet just before she could make it to the door a tall burly figure blocked her path.

"Leaving so soon, lassie?" The big man smiled with a belch, revealing rows of yellow and crooked teeth.

The cloaked figure stood still for a few moments, before answering with what sounded like shyness and nervousness, "Yes, I need to go; it's growing late."

Her voice was a few notes lower than what people might expect from a young woman, but melodious like the murmuring of forest brooks and the songs of spring rains, indeed nothing short of magical. Now that she spoke everyone in the tavern suddenly quieted and looked at her. Even the obnoxious bully was surprised into silence for a few moments. He stared at the cloaked figure, seeing nothing but still looking with longing.

But eventually the bully laughed and said with bravado, "Nonsense, lassie, you barely did anything! Why, we don't get many women folk here, but everyone who comes is looking for a good time, or else for a good man, though I'd wager the two are the same often enough. Do you see nothing you fancy here? Why don't I get you another tankard, and you can reconsider in the mean time?"

"You there, hassling my customer again?" The owner of the tavern shouted at the bully, but his words were half-hearted and he did not make any attempt to stop it. The bully was indeed very large and very intimidating.

Yet another long pause. There was the distinctive sense that the cloaked woman was surveying the tavern, measuring every curious face, every furtive glance, every ounce of innocence and malice. Eventually she said, "I didn't come here for either, sir, I was looking for a bit of work. I heard bards and dancers are tipped rather well here."

"Indeed they are!" The burly man said with a loud laugh, "But you will have to sing and dance first, coins second, lassie. Running off like that, you ain't getting no coins!"

The cloaked woman said abashedly, "I saw that you already have dancers, very good dancers, much prettier than I am. I shan't steal their business, I thought, and perhaps I ought to go to another tavern."

Now there was laughter all around the tavern.

"No, the more the merrier! We still have coins to spare, so dance away, missy!" Someone shouted from the other side.

"You heard the good people here," The burly man laughed, "Now why don't you dance, lass, and you better take off that cloak so we can see you go at it properly!"

He reached for the shadowy cloak, almost as if trying to rip it away. The cloaked woman sidestepped, and the material slipped away from his hand like water. Then she laughed and swept her hood and cloak behind her. Underneath the cloud-like cloak she was dressed as a ranger, black shirt, black leggings, a dark grey mantle belted with leather thrown over a pair of dirty leather boots of indistinguishable dark color. Yet the mannish clothing only seemed to accentuate her figure, slender and lissome and so enchanting to the eyes. But to everyone's disappointment her face was entirely hidden by black cloth, after the fashion of rangers, and only her grey eyes were visible, shining with a hallowed light.

"Oh sweetheart, why cover your face? The face always nets you a few more coins!" The burly man exclaimed.

"Ai, not me," The woman lamented, "My face was disfigured by a fire when I was but a child. Ever since then if I dared to show my face I would barely have the chance to sing and dance, never mind the coins. But if you don't see it, I can perhaps still count on a good tip. Now then, good friends, may I sing and dance for you?"

"Do, do!" The entire tavern clamored.

The strange woman began to sing a sweet melody. She slurred over the lyrics, blurring words together into a jumbled mess, but it hardly mattered, for everyone thought he understood the song just fine. The song carried them to a mid-summer feast, where the air smelled of flowers and overflowing wine; partridges and rabbits roasted over bright flames, and the shades of great parasol trees made for the perfect siesta spots…

In time to her song, the strange woman began to dance. Her arms wove in the air like willow branches billowing in the spring breeze, and her footsteps light as butterflies landing atop flowers, her heavy leather boots no different from silk slippers. The shadowy cloak billowed and swirled about her, like wisp of clouds in wind, or tides of the sea at night, or the dark canopy of an eldritch forest.

Her dance stopped before the song was completed, for there was no more need: every soul inside the tavern was fast asleep. She continued humming softly as she gathered the dark cloak about her and surveyed the tavern one last time, a frosty light in her crystalline eyes.

First day within the White City, here inside this tavern by whim and chance alone, yet already she stumbled upon a conspiracy of terrifying proportion. And it was not just that particular group discussing assassination in their own secret tongue either, she did not miss the meaningful glances exchanged among the conspiring group, the tavern owner, and that seemingly mindless bully who waylaid her exit.

How deeply did treachery run in the shadowed underworld beneath the tower of the sun?


End file.
